That First Mission To Serbia
by Pidraya
Summary: Gibbs, Jenny Shepard, Callen .. on that first mission to Serbia.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's notes:**_

In _Legend_ (Season Six), Callen (of NCIS:LA fame) and Gibbs talk about _that first mission to Serbia_. We know that Jenny and Gibbs shacked up in a Serbian farmhouse for a while, but that was clearly a different op. Since there _was_ a first mission and Callen was a part of it, one assumes he must have been on the team. In my vision of things, Callen replaced Stan Burley once the scene shifted to Europe.

A few things to facilitate reading - just in case they're needed.

Some very simplified history first. In 1992, four republics broke away from the _Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia_ amid a wave of ethnic tensions. Between 1992 and 2003 the Federal Republic of Yugoslvia (FRY) existed – made up of Serbia and Montenegro (the other two republics). However, the FRY was not recognised until 2000. In 1998, when this story is set, the ethnic clashes between Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo were already widespread. NATO would move in soon after.

Meanwhile, back in the United States, Bill Clinton was under scrutiny for his relationship with Monica Lewinsky.

_**USS Saipan**_ - a helicopter assault ship. Tarawa class. The primary mission of such a ship is to land and sustain Marines on any hostile shore. So we're talking a vessel twenty stories high, air and surface assault capable, and able to accommodate approximately 5,000 people. With a well-deck that holds amphibious craft. Such ships are also pretty much floating hospitals. With operating rooms and mortuaries, as well as blood banks, trauma and orthopaedic departments, and x-ray capabilities. Although the _Saipan_ was decommissioned in 2007, she was deployed in the Adriatic Sea in July of 1998.

_**MEU(SOC)**_ stands for Marine Expedition Unit (Special Operations Capable). They are the people who get sent out to do _TRAP_ missions. Which translates into _tactical recovery of aircraft and personnel_.

The _**NBC **_are defence specialists in nuclear, biological and chemical matters. They also provide individual protective measures and first aid for Marines and Sailors.

_**7N1 – **_a type of ammunition used in sniper rifles.

_**Dragunov **_– a type of Russian sniper rifle.

_**Potus**_ – abbreviation for the President of the United States.

Pat, Captain James Calhoun, and Dr. Queenie Gruber of the _NBC_ are original characters.

* * *

_**A bar in Naples, Italy**_

_**July 19th, 1998**_

"Hey Jenny."

"Hey Sam," she said as she passed him by.

"Hi Jenny."

"Mark." She smiled at him too.

"What took you so long?" an annoyed voice said as she slipped onto a bar stool.

"Hey Jennyyyyy ... buy you a drink?" another male voice called along the counter.

"Only if you make it two," she called back, indicating her friend.

"You betcha. Get the ladies whatever they want," the man said to the bartender. "And make it a double."

"God, is there any one of these guys that you haven't laid?"

"Haven't laid any one of them," Jenny said with a roll of her eyes.

"Not for lack of them trying," Pat said with a flare of her nostrils. "So what took you so long?"

"Leak under the kitchen sink."

"Did you call Gibbs to come fix it?"

"Callen fixed it."

"I woulda called Gibbs."

"He's my boss, Pat, not the maintenance guy."

"Oh he can do maintenance on me any day of the week," Pat replied as she checked her appearance in the mirror behind the bar.

Jenny shook her head.

"I swear, if I had five bucks for every woman who's asked me to set her up with Gibbs -"

Pat laughed.

"Just remember I'm first in line."

"How likely is it that you'll let me forget it? All you ever do is talk about Gibbs."

"Can you blame me? He's the best looking man to hit these parts in a while."

"What are all these guys?" Jen asked as she looked round the bar in disbelief. "Chopped liver?"

"I said _man_. These are _boys_ on a port of call with one thing on their mind."

Jenny snorted into her drink.

"And what exactly do you want to do with Gibbs? Hold his hand?"

Pat smiled wickedly.

"I was thinking more like hold his – oh, hey Will."

Jen looked up to find William Decker standing very close to her.

"Buy you girls a drink?" he asked as he waited to place his order.

"Maybe later," Jen said.

"We've got a table if you want to join us."

"Who's _we_?" Pat asked as she craned her neck in the direction he was indicating.

"I'm with Pacci. Sorry Pat, no Gibbs tonight."

"Did you tell Pacci?" she hissed when Decker had walked away.

"No, y_ou _told Pacci. Two weeks ago. When you were very drunk."

Pat shuddered for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Bet Will's cursing me right and left," she mumbled as she glanced over to where the two men were sitting.

"Huh?"

"You know he's sweet on you, right?"

"According to you _everyone's_ sweet on me, Pat."

"Everyone _is_."

Jenny huffed as she pushed Pat's glass closer to her.

"I'm going to the ladies' room. Drink up. I want to go somewhere else."

Decker's eyes followed Jen as she made her way to the back of the bar and then he addressed his companion.

"You've worked together for a while," he said slowly. "Got any tips for getting onto her good side?"

"If I did I wouldn't share them."

Decker put his glass down and looked closely at Pacci.

"You're not joking," he observed.

"She isn't just going to fall into your bed like every other woman round here."

"You guys must be lookin' after her good then."

The sound of Pacci's glass hitting the table top was loud despite the cacophany in the bar. But his voice was even.

"We've got enough problems without you stirring the pot."

"Has to be hard working with a woman like that and keeping your hands to yourself."

"Not as hard as you would think."

"She's got you all wrapped around her little finger."

"That's the scuttlebutt, is it?"

"I like her."

"You like anything in a skirt, Will."

"Nothing wrong with liking women. But there's something special about this one. A man would have to be made of stone not to notice."

"Oh we notice. We just don't hold her looks against her."

"She got something goin' with Gibbs?"

"No."

"Good, coz I'd hate to go treadin' on any toes. _What?_" he added when Pacci gave him a disdainful look. "The way you guys look out for her you'd think I needed his permission to ask her out for a drink."

"He's grouchy when something big's going down."

Decker polished off his drink.

"Tell me about it," he muttered. He was about to say something else when his phone went off. "This thing is starting to piss me off," he said as he reached into his pocket.

All traces of humour bled from his face as he listened to what the person at the other end was saying, and he was up and out of his chair even before the conversation had ended.

"Get Shepard. Playtime's over," was all he said to Pacci before he headed for the exit.

* * *

_**Naples Headquarters, a few hours later**_

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Gunny?"

"Russian," Gibbs said as he turned the glass jar round and round in his hand under the watchful gaze of Captain James Calhoun.

"That a 7N1?" the man asked.

"Maybe. But we're looking at any type of rifle chambered for 7.62x54R. Best guess, a Dragunov. They haven't been imported into the US since ninety-one."

The other man rose from his seat and paced round the room; his frustration palpable.

"We were boarding transport when he got scragged."

"Long range sniper hit. You couldn't have seen this coming. The Drag's maximum effective range is one thousand three hundred metres. Whoever did this was a pro. "

"Still no guarantee that the shot was taken by the Russians."

"Standard issue for their forces."

"And a crapload of others."

"We'll get to the bottom of it."

The MEU team leader suppressed a smile.

"Just make sure I don't have to come extract _your_ hide as well."

"This _wasn't_ your fault," Gibbs said when the smile didn't reach the man's eyes.

Calhoun kicked a chair out of his path angrily.

"We had him, Gunny."

"_Not your fault_," Gibbs repeated with a bit more emphasis. "He was dead the moment he finished brokering the deal between the guerillas and whoever was supplying the weapons."

"Yeah, well he died on _my_ watch," Calhoun spat. Composing himself seconds later. "When are you heading out?"

"As soon as Decker has everything in order."

"Right."

As soon as he'd left the room, Gibbs turned to the other three people in the room.

"Shepard and Callen, get some rest. What's on your mind?" he asked Pacci as soon as the other two had shuffled out of the room.

"You're sure they're ready for this?" Chris asked carefully.

Gibbs bobbed his head as he scooped papers off the table.

"They better be."

Callen's eyes were wide and bright as they made their way down the corridor, and when Jen placed a hand on his arm he stopped and looked at her.

"I would take Gibbs very seriously," she said. "Get some rest."

Just shy of three days later she was wishing she'd taken her own advice.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The USS Saipan**_

_**Seventy-two hours later**_

"Any word on when the hearing is?"

"Someone said August. Maybe."

Ducky looked up from the papers he was reading; a small smile creeping across his tired features when he realised what the nurses were talking about.

"Think it's really true?"

"She spilled her guts, didn't she?"

"What's going on?" a third orderly asked as he joined them.

"Just talking about the Cuban missile crisis," one of the others said.

The men guffawed, and then fell into silence when Ducky's voice came at them from the corner.

"Sometimes a cigar is more than just a cigar," he said with an arched eyebrow and a definite air of amusement to his voice.

"Not when it belongs to the Potus," someone chuckled.

Ducky looked up again and saw James Calhoun walking through the door.

"Good evening, Captain."

"Evenin' Doc. How's the patient? Any change?"

Ducky shook his head as they glanced over to a sealed area at the far end of the room.

"He's taking quite the hammering."

"Is he out of danger?" Calhoun asked. "It's been over twenty-four hours now, right?"

"Yes. Yes it has."

"Where's Dr. Gruber?"

"With Agent Callen."

"_Has she figured out what the hell it is yet?_" Calhoun asked, his temper flaring a little as wet gurgling sounds drifted through a set of speakers next to them.

"If by _she_ you mean _me_, the answer is no," a tired voice said from the doorway.

Callen trailed into the room behind her; his eyes lingering on the isolation chamber.

"Dr. Gruber," Ducky acknowledged gently as he rose from his seat and pushed it towards her. "Can I have them bring you some tea?"

Queenie Gruber smiled.

"No. But thank -"

"Is Gibbs going to be okay?" Callen blurted out.

His voice sounded foreign to him.

Possibly because he hadn't used it much since they'd been airlifted out of Serbia.

The three of them had been quarantined together until Gibbs had started manifesting symptoms. Strict isolation had followed. He'd spent the past twenty-four hours confined in little more than a bubble. Constantly under surveillance. Without a clue about what was happening to the other two. Nobody had asked him any questions yet. Or answered any of his. Nobody had been allowed anywhere near him at all, in fact. Unless they were medical personnel.

He sensed that was about to change.

"From the top, son," Calhoun said as he pulled up a chair.

Callen's eyes cut to Dr. Gruber for a moment.

"I've been read in," she said simply, "and Dr. Mallard -"

"Holds everyone's medical proxy and needs to know what's going on," Calhoun supplied without missing a beat. "That's why he was flown over."

Callen nodded briefly before launching into his narrative.

Intel had led them to _Novi Pazar._ Narcotics and prostitution rackets were rife in this southern Serbian city, but it was its weapons storage facilities that had placed it firmly on the map. The warehouse had been eerily silent as they'd made their way inside, but they'd known better than to assume it was empty. He'd been the one to flush out one of the guerillas. Starting a chase that had culminated in him being trapped at the top of a stairwell.

One floor above Gibbs.

He closed his eyes against the memory; hearing the crunch of heavy boots on the metal plating underfoot as the men advanced on him. The next thing he knew the man coming up the stairs dropped, and the one closest to him stumbled forward, reached for the railing, and plummeted down over it.

Another shot rang out somewhere on the bottom level. Presumably someone Jenny had taken out.

"_Dead," Gibbs said as he checked the body at his feet for a pulse._

"_Callen, are you okay?" Jenny called. Her weapon still trained on the dark recesses of the warehouse as though she expected someone else to jump out of the shadows._

"_Yeah. Coming down," he called back as he started to take the steps two at a time._

"_Stay!" Gibbs' voice was harsh. "Just move. Up. As far away as you can get."_

_As he started moving back up Callen saw Gibbs close up the man's backpack and look over at Jenny._

"_Now!" he barked at her as he pulled a satellite phone from his pocket._

Ducky patted Callen on he arm as he fell silent.

"Jethro won't go down without a fi-" he'd just started to say when an orderly popped his head round the door.

"Dr. Gruber ..."

"Yes?" she said, standing in response to the anxiety in his voice.

"We're having problems with Agent Shepard."

"Is she showing symptoms?"

"No. She's refusing to stay in isolation."

Ducky smiled in spite of himself.

"I'll go with you," he said as Dr. Gruber sighed.

"I'd appreciate it. She's been a terrible patient."

"You won't appreciate the definition of _terrible patient _until you've had the pleasure of dealing with Jethro in recovery."

Queenie Gruber shuddered.

"That bad?"

"Oh infinitely worse."

"You'll have to suit up if you're coming in."

"Of course."

They heard Jenny before they saw her, and when they stood in her presence the look of relief on the orderlies' faces almost made Ducky want to laugh.

"Agent Shepard …"

"You said twenty-four hours. They're up."

"Your cough -"

"Is gone." She breathed in and out dramatically a few times. "See, nothing. I was standing several feet away."

"The powder was airborne. You inhaled _some_, or you wouldn't have had the cough," Dr. Gruber pointed out.

"It was a_ slight_ cough and I'm fine now. You can't keep me in here."

"I want to check you over one last time."

Jenny's eyes narrowed, but she sat on the edge of the bed and allowed herself to be checked out.

"You seem to be okay," the NBC specialist conceded reluctantly.

"Where are Gibbs and Callen?" Jen wanted to know.

She observed as Dr. Gruber's eyes shifted to the side.

"Agent Callen is fine."

"And Gibbs?"

When the atmosphere in the room became tense she bit her lower lip in determination.

"I want to see him."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Two hours later **_

Dr. Gruber, James Calhoun and Ducky sat around the station they'd set up close to the makeshift isolation chamber housing Gibbs; the soundtrack of his laboured breathing adding to the restiveness in the room.

Ducky broke the silence when it became too much for even him to bear.

"It begs the question _what were they planning to do with the Beryllium_?"

"Additional testing, perhaps? To see how it could be used as a chemical or bio-weapon?" Calhoun suggested.

"Beryllium isn't on the government radar. As far as they're concerned _it isn't really a chemical weapon and doesn't cause problems_." Dr. Gruber's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I take it you don't agree with that," Ducky said carefully.

"No, I don't. The problems have been out there for years, but the powers that be find it easier to just ignore them."

"So what's the protocol here?" Calhoun asked, no less irritated. "Isolate him and get him over the damn symptoms?"

Queenie Gruber tried to rub the tension out of her right shoulder as she spoke.

"Pretty much. We're treating this as _acute chemical pneumonitis._ Which is a fancy way of saying that irritation and inflammation of the lungs is making it hard for him to breathe. He's on intravenous fluids, and we've thrown in antibiotics and immunoglobulins."

"Covering all bases," Ducky surmised.

"More like covering our ass," Dr. Gruber said with a disgusted shake of her head.

"Doctor!"

Her head snapped up at the sound of Jenny's voice.

"He's very agitated."

Queenie rose immediately and headed for the closet in the small antechamber. As she pulled on the protective gear she looked at Jenny closely.

"Are you feeling okay?"

She got a sharp nod before Jenny disappeared back into the isolation chamber.

Gibbs looked at the sea of faces around him. Somewhere in the back of his head he was sure his team was there, but everyone looked the same behind the masks they were wearing. The burning sensation in his chest hadn't subsided, and he was still having difficulty breathing.

"What's wrong with him?" someone asked.

He focused on a voice he thought he recognised.

_Jenny._

"His blood oxygen levels are falling."

Another female voice. This one with a lot more authority to it.

"When that happens some of the cognitive functions are impacted. He's confused, because without proper oxygen his mind can't process all that is happening to him."

"Do something! There has to be something more you can do."

_Definitely Jenny._

He tried to turn in the direction of her voice – only to find that he was being gently restrained.

"I need to increase his supportive oxygen from two litres to four litres per minute. If his oxygen levels refuse to stay above 90%, I'll switch him to a mask. It will allow for a better flow of oxygen and won't be as irritating as the cannula."

As the doctor increased the flow, Gibbs could feel the increased pressure and the oddly antiseptic smell of the oxygen trying to push its way into his traumatised lungs.

So he fought.

Hard.

"He doesn't want it."

"He's not in a position to know _what_ he wants," the doctor snapped.

Sensing a losing battle, she slipped the cannula from his nose. Readying for the exchange to a softer mask that would cover both his mouth and nose.

"Jen?"

It was little more than a croak, but it brought them all up short.

"Agent Gibbs, can you hear me?" Dr. Gruber asked.

"Jen?"

"I'm here."

He reached out in what he thought was her general direction.

"He's disorientated," Dr. Gruber said to Jenny when he missed. "But he's focusing on you, so talk to him. I need you to calm him down enough for me to put this on him."

"Gibbs ..."

He looked wildly between the two women, and for a moment his agitation seemed to increase.

"Keep talking," Gruber said. "He's trying to follow the sound of your voice. Call him by his name. It will help him distinguish between us."

Jenny looked down at the man on the bed. He was shifting restlessly; his eyes still darting wildly around the room.

"Jethro ..."

His hand shot out again. Colliding with her gown before working its way up to her mask.

"Jenny?" he queried as his fingers splayed across its surface.

As she watched him strain his eyes, trying to decide whether it was really her behind the mask or not, the oppression of the protective clothing suddenly became overwhelming.

"Don't -" Dr. Gruber shouted at her.

But Jen couldn't have cared less at that point.

"I'm here, Jethro," she said as she removed her mask and let him touch her face.

"He's still resisting. Push two milligrams of Ativan," Dr. Gruber said.

Jen drew a breath as she watched him relax fractionally.

"This will confuse him more," the doctor explained, "but he won't fight the mask. If I can't maintain his oxygen levels at 92% I'll have to chemically restrain and intubate him."

Thoughts of how he would hate that spiralled through Jenny's mind. But she didn't express the sentiment. Instead she dropped her hand to his shoulder and squeezed it.

"You're going to be fine," she said gently as Dr. Gruber slipped the mask onto him.

* * *

_**Several hours after that ...**_

She'd been around the machines monitoring his vitals long enough now to know which number she needed to keep her eye on. His heart rate and blood pressure had remained stable, and the tranquiliser had done its job. So Dr. Gruber had put him back on the cannula at three litres. Occasionally he would fuss with it in his sleep. Or at least try to. All it took was a whisper of his name and a gentle tug on his hands, however, and he settled down immediately. He looked as close to peaceful as she imagined he ever could; no doubt courtesy of the Ativan. And he hadn't had any nightmares.

His left hand twitched slightly in sleep. Prompting her to take it in her own and stroke it gently. The skin felt dry under her fingertips, and the gentle abrasion of contact suddenly made her realise how tired she was. So tired she wasn't even sure what she was saying to him made even remote sense. But she kept talking – because it helped her to distance herself from the possibility that he still might not come out of this.

"Jennifer .."

Ducky's voice was an unwelcome intrusion, but she knew why he'd come. She'd lost track of how long she'd been sitting here but knew that meal time had come, gone, and come again.

"At the very least you need to get something to eat."

"Will you stay with him?"

Callen had succumbed to pressure and gone to get some rest hours before. But not her.

"Dr. Gruber and I are doing some paperwork. I'll leave her to it and sit with Jethro."

Jenny nodded. Turning back to the bed as soon as Ducky had left the chamber. She rested a hand on top of Gibbs' head for a moment. Finally admitting to herself that she was afraid to leave him.

Afraid something might happen in her absence.

After hours spent in this vacuum with him it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to press a kiss to his mouth.

The silence wrapped itself around them both as she trailed a hand down his face and dragged her thumb along his cheek.

"I'll be back soon," she whispered as she pressed one last lingering kiss to his forehead.

Dr. Gruber smiled at her as she left the room, but her smile faded once the door closed behind her.

"There's something on your mind," Ducky said.

"Is there something between them?"

"Jethro .. inspires loyalty," he said carefully.

"A diplomatic answer."

"Is there any other kind?"

Dr Gruber smiled slightly.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, I'm worried, Dr. Mallard."

"Ducky. Please."

"I'm worried, Ducky."

"What about?" Although he was pretty sure he knew.

Dr. Gruber looked in the direction of the door Jenny had just exited.

"That this may come back to haunt her."

* * *

_**Author's acknowledgements and notes:**_

Thanks to _**4sweetdreams**_ for the medical help, and to _**ltjvt1026**_ for the fact-checking.

I hope I don't have to go into detail about Clinton and the .. ahem .. cigar? It's all in the _Starr Report_.

Now about the _Beryllium_.

We don't know enough about the backstory in any real way to know whether Jenny was exposed to anything. The mysterious illness in season five bothered me so I wanted to justify it. Beryllium was used all over the world, but apparently very much so in France and Eastern Europe. There's nothing to say she wasn't exposed to it.

It would certainly fit into canon.

Onset of symptoms can take up to ten years – after which decline is rapid. In some people the lungs become hypersensitive to beryllium (and even one small exposure can be enough); causing the development of small inflammatory nodules. These granulomas often develop in the lungs, but can go to other organs. In her case they would have gone to the brain. Accumulation of granulomas in particular areas of the brain would lead to abnormalities in the function of that area. For example things like mental function would probably be affected. This would provide an explanation for some of her poor decision making. As, for example, in her pursuit of La Grenouille.


End file.
